Alternative Part five of the boys getting dosed by Truth Serum but instead of Soap, Ghost, Price, and Gaz, it's you.
They haul you out of the Konni’s cell feeling like you’d walked straight through a glitter cloud and breathed deep. Your chest feels fizzy like champagne bubbles under your ribs, like a shaken can of soda about to explode, your tongue two seconds faster than your brain. You sit, palms on your knees, determined to be normal. Spoiler: You weren’t.
“How we doin’ then, hen?” Soap asked, perching his ass right on the table like he’d shelled out for front-row seats to the world’s most awkward strip show. “Feelin’ alright? Need some water? A biscuit? Maybe a muzzle?”
You meant to say “I’m fine.” Truly. That’s all. Maybe add a shrug for effect. A sarcastic “living the dream” at worst.
But instead, what came out without your permission was “Sometimes I fantasize about you on your knees with Ghost’s cock in your mouth, gaggin you, tears streaming down your face, loving every second while you slurp it like it’s the last lollipop on Earth.”
Silence crashed in like a tidal wave of “what the actual fuck.”.
Soap made a noise like a tea kettle. Ghost’s head turned one centimeter, slow as syrup. Gaz’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. Price blinked like a Windows update just started behind his eyelids without consent.
Your hands flew to your mouth like you could retroactively stuff the words back in. “I- shit- oh my god, no-! Fuck! I didn’t mean to say that out loud, I meant- I do mean it, that’s the problem- ”
Price’s voice went captain calm. “Compound strips away your filter, love, but not your smarts. We’ll stick to clinical questions from here on out.”
“Copy,” Soap lied immediately through his perfect teeth, not missing a beat. “Clinically speaking, do I look hot as fuck in this fantasy of yours?”
Your traitorous mouth, now fully in the driver’s seat, spoke without your permission: “Abso-fucking-lutely devastating. Spit dribbling down your chin like you’ve been deepthroating a firehose. You get all cocky, trying to tease with your tongue, and he just grabs a fistful of your mohawk, shoves you down that extra inch till your nose is buried in his pubes, and growls, ‘Be useful, you mouthy little slut.’”
Ghost’s eyes flickered, sharp, predatory, and way too intrigued. “Specific.”
“I read,” you blurted. “A lot of smutty fanfics. And now I think about it more than I should. You holding his hips. Him making those low little grunts, gagging just a bit- ”
“Fucking hell,” Soap whispered, dazed.
Ghost turned his head slowly toward Soap. “You gag?”
“Shut up,” Soap hissed, ears going red, while Gaz slapped a hand over his mouth to stifle a cackle, shoulders shaking.
“Okay,” you said brightly, lying to God. “I’m fine. I can be fine. We can proceed like adults.”
Soap, already vibrating like a horny chihuahua, leaned forward. “Any other…clinically relevant scenarios rattlin’ around in that filthy mind of yours?
“No,” you snap, turning away from all of them, fully intending to face the corner like a child being punished, but your mouth had other plans. “Sometimes I pretend you’re all Barbies. Not the girl ones. Like…you’re my boy Barbies and I make you kiss. Price and Ghost. Soap and Gaz. Ghost and Soap. Gaz and Price. Ghost and Gaz. Sometimes all four of you together.”
Price choke. “You fantasize about us kissing?”
You nodded, miserable. “It’s a whole thing. In the shower. Or sometimes in the gym. Sometimes I imagine you in the ops theater chair, legs spread, shirt sleeves rolled, and Gaz on his knees between them while you read an after action report out loud and say ‘mmh’ like you’re grading coursework.”
Gaz dropped his forehead to the doorframe, laughing. “An oral exam. Mate, I’d ace that shit with extra credit.”
Price turned the exact color of a hard stop sign and still somehow kept his dignity. “That would be a misuse of the facility.”
“In my head it’s… efficient,” you squeaked. “Multitasking at its finest: briefing and boning.”
Ghost, deadpan, asked: “Document more efficiencies.”
You stared at the floor like it might swallow you whole. “Sometimes I imagine Ghost and Gaz in the gym’s back corner pretending to spot each other while the bar never actually moves cause Gaz it too busy grinding in his lap and Gaz says, ‘Good form, lieutenant,’ and Ghost says nothing, just ruts up against him, and then Gaz shuts up for the first time in his life when he feels Ghost’s monster cock under his shorts.”
Gaz’s hand slid over his own mouth like he was test fitting the fantasy. “Shit, I could be persuaded. Sounds like a solid workout.”
Soap kicked his heels. “Put me in, coach.”
“No,” you said at once, which meant yes. “You and Price in the copy room,” you continued helplessly. “Projector humming. Paper warm from the tray. You mouthing off, and he turns you, palms to the machine, murmurs, ‘Hands flat,’ and you listen for once in your life, and he bends you over and rails you from behind till you’re moaning louder than the copier- oh my god I need to die now.”
Soap looked personally blessed. “My two genders: submissive and stapled.”
Price rubbed his temple like he was warding off a migraine from hell. “Operational boundaries.”
Ghost’s head tilted. “And you? Where’re you in all this, love?”
Your heart jackhammered like it was trying to escape your chest and make a break for the nearest exit. Oh fuck, no. Not this. Not the grand finale of your personal spank bank symphony.
You slapped a hand over your mouth so hard it stung, fingers digging into your cheeks like it could physically weld your mouth shut.
Hold it in. Just. Hold. It. In.
You bit down on your tongue, squeezed your eyes closed, and willed the serum to fuck off for five goddamn minutes.
But nope. The truth bubbled up like acid reflex from hell, building pressure in your throat until it actually hurt, a sharp, twisted ache in your gut like you’d swallowed a live grenade.
You face contorted, sweat beading on your forehead, and you whimpered through your fingers, shaking your head wildly.
The guys exchanged glances. Soaped leaned in with that shit eating grin, Gaz propped himself against the door like he was settling in for premium cable, Price folded his arms with a mix of concern and curiosity, and Ghost watched like a predator scenting blood.
You lasted maybe ten seconds before the dam burst, the words exploding out in a frantic, mortified torrent: “I’m right in the middle of it, you assholes- oh god, please shoot me. Sometimes I imagine the four of you turning me into a human kebab in the war room at 0300, Ghost pinning me face down on the table, mask hiked up enough to bite my shoulder while he slams into me from behind, his cock stretching me till I’m seeing stars and begging for a mercy I don’t really want.”
You couldn’t stop even if you wanted to, the words coming out faster now. “Soap under me, grinning like a maniac as he thrusts up into my cunt, hands groping my tits and pinching my nipples till they’re raw, whispering in Gaelic how tight I am.”
You paused long enough to take a breath, dizzy. “Gaz is at my head, feeding me his dick inch by inch, making me choke on it while he strokes my head and calls me a good girl.”
You can’t even look at any of them now. “Price is orchestrating the whole thing like it’s an op, circling us, barking orders, telling Ghost to go deeper, Soap to make me scream, Gaz to hold me steady. Then Price finally joins in, pushing his thick cock in right next to Ghost and Soap, making me cum so hard I black out. Everyone swapping holes like it’s musical chairs, cum dripping everywhere, me a sweaty moaning mess in the center, loving every degrading, delicious second of being your shared fucktoy.”
The room went silent, save for the faint hum of the fluorescent lights and your own ragged panting.
Soap’s jaw hit the floor, his eyes wide as saucers and a visible tent forming in his pants. Gaz let out a low, appreciative whistle, adjusting himself not so subtly against the door. Price cleared his throat three times, face flushing like he’d chugged hot sauce, but his eyes went dark and hungry. Ghost didn’t move a muscle, but you swore you saw his gloves flex, like he was imagining gripping your hips right then and there.
You collapsed back in your chair, covering your face with both hands, dying a thousand deaths. “I… I need a new identity. Witness protection. From myself.”
Soap recovered first, fanning himself dramatically. “Hen, if that’s yer idea of a team building exercise, sign me the fuck up. When do we start?”
Price shot him a glare that could melt steel. “MacTavish, zip it before I make you.” But even he couldn’t hide the way his voice had dropped an octave, rough around the edges.
Gaz chuckled, eyes sparkling. “Best debrief ever. ”
Ghost’s voice cut through, silk smooth and deadly, “Detailed logistics. Impressive.” He paused, then added, “Feasible.”
You peeked through your fingers, horrified and horny in equal measure. “I’m so sorry. I did not mean to- I meant it, I just didn’t- I wasn’t going to tell you.”
“Noted,” Price said, dry as sand. “No one breathe a word of this.”
Soap crossed his heart. “Promise” (It sounded like a lie.)
Gaz beamed. “We are honored hypotheticals.”
Ghost inclined his head. “And apparently efficient.”
You put your head in your hands with trembling dignity. “I’m okay.”
Soap couldn’t help himself. “You sure? You look a bit… fizzed.”
You took a breath. You tried a normal sentence. “My chest feels- ”
“ -like the four of you should make out,” your mouth finished, cheerfully suicidal.
